[Shaw's Bar, Late Night]
Shaw's had thinned out by the time the rest of the squad left. Chairs scraped, a few regulars laughed too loudly in the corner, and the bartender wiped down the counter.
Terry sat hunched over his glass, not drinking, just staring into it like the answer might be floating somewhere at the bottom. Ray leaned back in his chair across from him, one arm resting along the back, watching him in that calm, unreadable way.
"You're thinking too hard," Ray said, tapping the side of his own head lightly.
Terry let out a breath through his nose. "Terry's not thinking. Terry's replaying the situation over and over again." He shook his head slowly. "That store… I should've moved. I knew what to do. I just… didn't."
Ray didn't jump in right away. He let the silence stretch a bit, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "You didn't fail. You hesitated. There's a difference."
Terry looked up, eyes tired. "Out there, hesitation gets people hurt. That difference doesn't matter when someone pulls a trigger."
Ray tilted his head slightly, studying him. "Then we fix the hesitation."
Terry let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh yeah. That simple, huh? Just flip a switch, and Terry goes back to being fearless."
Ray reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out, placing it on the table between them.
A yogurt cup.
Bright label. Mango flavor.
Terry's eyes flicked down immediately. "…You didn't just bring yogurt to a bar."
Ray shrugged like it was completely normal. "It's a high-end imported product, made with real milk, not the chemical stuff they sell in the market. Hard to get."
Terry stared at it for a second longer than he should have. "That's messed up."
Ray leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to sound serious. "Open shooting range. Tomorrow morning. You show up, try, and don't run from it." He tapped the yogurt cup once. "You do that, I'll stock your fridge for a month."
Terry's expression shifted, conflict written all over his face. "A whole month?"
Ray nodded once. "Premium stuff. Not the cheap kind you pretend to like."
Terry squinted at him. "You're bribing Terry with yogurt to fix a psychological problem."
Ray didn't even blink. "It's working."
Terry leaned back, folding his arms, trying to resist. "This is manipulation."
Ray picked up the yogurt and slowly peeled back the lid just enough for the scent to hit the air. "Real mango pulp... I wonder how it tastes."
Terry closed his eyes for a second like he was fighting something internal. Then he opened them again, defeated. "…What time?"
Ray smirked faintly. "Eight."
Terry pointed at him. "This better work."
Ray sealed the yogurt again. "It will. Or at least you'll get free yogurt while trying."
Terry shook his head, muttering under his breath as he finally picked up his drink. "Terry can't believe he's being blackmailed by dairy."
Ray slid the cup toward Terry. "Everyone has a weakness, Terry."
Terry caught the cup as his mouth already began to water.
...
[Next morning] [Gun range]
The morning air carried a sharp, clean chill that forced alertness, whether it was welcome or not. The shooting range stretched out ahead. Targets stood in a precise row downrange.
Terry held his position with the gun raised.
His hands trembled.
The shaking was obvious and impossible to hide.
Ray stood a few feet behind him, watching in silence.
Terry tightened his grip, jaw locking. "Okay… okay. I've got this." He tried to steady his breathing as he lined up the sight. "Same as training. Same as always."
His finger hovered over the trigger.
It refused to move.
The tremor grew worse.
Frustration surged as Terry lowered the gun slightly. "Come on. Just do it." He lifted it again and tried to force the motion. His finger pressed a fraction, then stopped as if something unseen blocked it. "No… why is this so hard?"
He stepped back and lowered the weapon completely. "I can't do it."
Ray did not respond. Instead, he turned and walked to the bench behind them, where his bag rested.
Terry frowned, confusion quickly turning into irritation. "That's it? You're not even going to say anything?"
Ray said nothing. He unzipped the bag with unhurried precision, as though nothing unusual was happening. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small container.
Another yogurt.
Mango again.
Terry narrowed his eyes. "No. Don't even start."
Ray peeled back the lid, completely unfazed. "Smells good."
Annoyance flared as Terry stepped closer. "Ray, I am in the middle of a serious moment and you're having breakfast?"
Ray dipped the spoon in, took a bite, and nodded thoughtfully. "Texture's good."
Terry threw his hands up. "I'm falling apart here!"
Another spoonful. Another calm expression. Then Ray finally looked at him. "You're overthinking it."
Terry blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Ray gestured lightly with the spoon. "You're trying to manage every detail. The result, the risk, what could go wrong. That isn't how you used to operate."
Terry shook his head, frustration spilling over. "Things are different now. I actually have something to lose."
Ray nodded once, as if he had expected that. "You always did. The difference is that you never let it control you." He took another bite, unbothered. "Having fear is a good thing. It keeps you alert and alive in a dangerous situation. But the moment you start listening to it, it's game over."
Terry stared at him, breathing heavier. "So what am I supposed to do? Terry can't help but listen to these whispers in his head."
Ray set the yogurt cup down on the bench with unusual care, as if it were something fragile instead of cheap plastic. He wiped the spoon against the lid, snapped it shut, and stood up.
Terry watched him, chest heaving, frustration still written all over his face. "You going to say something useful, or just stand there eating like a psychopath?"
Ray didn't answer. He stepped forward.
Then he punched him.
The hit came fast. Terry's head snapped to the side, and he stumbled half a step before catching himself. His hand flew to his cheek, eyes wide with disbelief. "What the hell was that for?"
Ray rolled his shoulder once, loosening it. A faint smile spread across his face, calm but edged with something sharper. "I'm going to beat the shit out of you."
Confusion flickered across Terry's face. "Ray…"
Knuckles cracked as Ray stepped closer again, closing the gap like the conversation had already ended. "Everyone keeps saying you are the strongest guy around when it comes to raw strength. And I've always wanted to test my own strength against you. So, let's find out how long it takes before you actually fight back."
Terry lifted his hands halfway, instinct taking over even as his mind struggled to catch up. "Stop messing around. This isn't funny."
Ray kept moving. "Relax. I'll cover the hospital bill." His tone stayed even, almost casual, as he shifted his stance. "And when your kids ask what happened, tell them you stood there and took a beating without doing a damn thing."
That hit harder than the punch.
Terry's jaw clenched.
Ray moved again.
A sharp jab shot toward Terry's face. This time, Terry reacted, bringing his forearm up just in time. The impact rattled through his arm.
"Enough, Ray," Terry snapped, stepping back.
Ray pressed forward immediately, throwing a second strike toward Terry's ribs.
Terry turned and caught it on his elbow, though the force still drove him another step back. "I said stop! This ain't funny."
Ray didn't slow down.
"Why?" he asked, launching another punch, faster now. "Does it hurt? Or, are you getting scared?"
Terry blocked again, but sloppier now. His footing started to slip on the gravel. "Because you're acting crazy!"
The next attack came quicker than before. Ray feinted high, then drove a strike into Terry's midsection.
This one landed hard enough to knock the air out of him.
Terry bent slightly, a sharp breath escaping. "That's enough!"
Still, Ray kept coming.
"I'm waiting," he said, stepping in again. "Show me something, Terry. What'd you do if someone points a gun at your family? You gonna just stand there like a scared cat? Huh?"
This time, Terry shoved him back, putting real strength behind it. "Back off!"
Ray slid half a step, then surged forward again, relentless. "There it is. Took you long enough."
Another strike came. Terry blocked it. A second followed. Blocked again.
Now his arms moved faster.
His stance began to settle.
Breathing shifted, deeper and steadier.
Ray caught it immediately.
He pushed harder.
A hook came toward Terry's head. Terry ducked, reacting without thinking. His body moved on instinct, the way it used to.
A flicker of approval crossed Ray's eyes. "That's better."
Terry straightened and shoved him back harder than before, chest rising and falling. "You done yet?"
Ray shook his head once. "Not even close."
He stepped in again.
This time Terry didn't wait.
He swung first.
It wasn't perfect, but it was fast and full of force. Ray tilted his head just enough for the punch to graze past, then answered with a quick strike to Terry's shoulder.
Terry didn't freeze.
He stepped in again.
They circled each other now, boots grinding into the dirt, arms clashing in quick bursts of movement. There was no rhythm, just raw exchanges. The fight felt rough and unpredictable, nothing like controlled training.
Terry's hesitation began to crack.
Ray kept talking, voice steady even as he moved. "Out there, you think you get time to think? Time to weigh every option?"
Another block. Terry's breathing grew heavier, but his focus sharpened. "No."
"Then stop acting like you do," Ray said, closing in again.
This time, Terry caught his arm and held it.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Terry shoved him back with force.
"I'm not afraid of getting hit," he said, voice lower now, steadier. "What scares me is not making it back."
Terry held his ground, chest rising and falling as the words settled in his bones. The grip in his hands tightened, but his focus stayed locked on Ray.
Ray moved first.
He stepped in close and knocked Terry's guard aside with a sharp parry, twisting his wrist just enough to break the hold. Before Terry could reset, Ray's foot swept low and clipped his leg out from under him. Terry hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through his back.
He barely had time to react.
Ray was already on him.
A knee pinned his arm. A hand locked his shoulder. One clean motion followed, controlled and precise, forcing Terry flat against the dirt with no room to move.
Terry struggled once, instinctively, but it went nowhere.
Ray raised his fist.
For a split second, it looked like he was actually going to drive it down.
Terry braced.
The punch stopped an inch from his nose.
Silence hit the range like a held breath.
Ray's eyes burned into him, cold and steady. "You think you're the only one who is scared and got something to lose?" His voice stayed low, but every word landed heavy. "Amy, Charles, and me barely made it out of that explosion alive. Forget about me. I've been through worse. But you think they walked away from that like nothing happened?"
Terry's breathing slowed, his focus sharpening as the words cut deeper than any hit.
Ray didn't move his fist. "They are still showing up. Still doing the job. Still standing in the line of fire even after getting a front row seat to how fast it can all end." His jaw tightened slightly. "And you? The strongest guy in the precinct? You're stepping back when everyone needs you to stand tall?"
Terry clenched his teeth, something shifting behind his eyes.
Ray leaned in just a fraction closer. "How dare you run from your responsibilities like that?" His voice dropped further, edged with something harsher now. "If you were one of the recruits in my regiment, I would've put two rounds through your kneecaps and sent you home as a warning to the rest."
The words hung there, brutal and unfiltered.
Ray pulled his fist back slowly, then pushed himself up and stepped away, giving Terry space to breathe.
"You got two choices," he said, brushing dust off his sleeve like nothing just happened. "You stand up, face what's in your head, and become the hero your family and this squad needs right now." He looked down at Terry. "Or you stay down and let fear decide who you are."
Terry stayed on the ground for a second longer, staring up at the sky. The cold air hit his face, sharp and real. His chest rose once, twice, then steadied.
His fingers curled into the dirt.
Then he pushed himself up.
Slow at first, then solid.
He got to his feet and rolled his shoulders back, posture changing as something old and familiar settled into place.
Terry looked at Ray, eyes clear now. "Terry doesn't run."
"Does he?" Ray yelled.
"TERRY IS THE STRONGEST!" Terry yelled back.
"IS HE?" Ray yelled like a drill sergeant.
"TERRY IS NOT A COWARD!"
"PROVE IT!"
Terry turned and walked back toward the firing line. He picked up the gun, grip firm this time. His hands weren't shaking like before, and that fire inside him reignited again.
He raised it.
Lined up the shot.
His finger pulled the trigger. "AAARRHHHHHGGG!!!!"
The crack echoed clean across the range.
The target jerked from the impact.
Terry didn't lower the weapon right away. He fired again and again. Each shot tighter, faster, cleaner.
Ray watched from behind, arms folded, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Terry lowered the gun after the last shot, exhaling slowly. He glanced back over his shoulder. "That yogurt better be in my fridge by tonight."
Ray shrugged lightly. "Already sent a month's worth of yogurt to your address."
Terry nodded once, a hint of his usual confidence creeping back in. "Good. Because Terry just earned it."